


when the world goes to hell

by ivelostmyspectacles



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Fantasizing, Gen, Loneliness, M/M, Masturbation, Pining, Post-Episode: s01e08 Much More, it's not even a sexual fantasy he just MISSES him alright, repressed homosexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:36:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22195645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/ivelostmyspectacles
Summary: lie back and think of Geralt of Riviaaka the fic where Jask gets off while thinking about Geralt
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 13
Kudos: 187





	when the world goes to hell

He can't sleep. 

He knows a large part of it's stress at this point. He'd felt… faint when he'd heard the news about Cintra. Queen Calanthe confirmed dead and he'd almost thrown up, honestly. The war on their doorstep, like it hadn't been already. But it was different, hearing about Cintra. He'd been denying the possibility of Nilfgaard taking the continent so fiercely because it was… it was too frightening to think of, otherwise. But here they were. 

The one bright spot was that the princess wasn't dead. The Lion Cub of Cintra… Geralt's Child Surprise, Cirilla. Nilfgaard had put out a massive bounty on her head, and Jaskier had thought, _I hope he finds her quick._ A bounty was nothing for Geralt of Rivia, but a child? Even– even the late Pavetta's child… well, Geralt just needed to find her, now more than ever. 

Jask knows he's out there, looking. There was no way he wouldn't be, after _talking_ and _worrying_ so _much_ over that child. He'd always thought it kind of funny, how smart Geralt was but how _stupid_ he'd been being, not realizing how much he loved that child even without knowing her. But you couldn't tell Geralt anything, could you? 

… Jask wonders how he's doing, too. Geralt. How he's handling the news. He hasn't seen him since… since the hunt, when Yennefer had portled out and Geralt had gone that night without a word. Jask had gone back down with the dwarves and then just… gone home, because what else was he supposed to have done? He'd been welcomed back with all the earthly delights of flesh and wine– a minor convenience to being marginally famous, these days– but it had felt sort of… hollow, really. 

He doesn't blame Geralt. And he knows he didn't mean it, _knows,_ but Geralt had been angry and grieving in his way, and he always loses his head around Yennefer these days. Making that wish, and then watching her walk away… yeah. Jask gets it. And Geralt was shit with emotions, anyway. So, no, he doesn't blame Geralt for that outburst. 

But it _had_ hurt. Ohh yes. And it still does, an ache beneath his chest that he wants to claw into and tear out just to have it gone, just so he can get on with his life himself, but… he doesn't believe him, and he's been trying to not let it get to him.

But he can't sleep. 

His mind’s too active. And, yeah, he knows that a large part of it _is_ stress, because of Cintra and because of Geralt and because, most recently, the news that Nilfgaard had attacked Sodden– everything was just _shit_ nowadays, all of a sudden and all at once.

And he can’t _sleep._

He fidgets with the laces on his trousers, hesitates, and then slips his hand inside.

Probably, he wants company. Definitely wants company. _Should_ be doing this with someone, considering the war is on their doorstep. He should be living his best life. He doesn’t think his best life is here.

Coming back to this shitty backwater– gods, what is _wrong_ with him? He’d used to love it here, before– where the days were sleepy and the nights dragged long, and even more quiet… he’d used to love the solace. And it isn’t as though there isn’t company to be had on every street corner, and Jaskier has the coin, but… he’s already in his sleep things, and he doesn’t _really_ want to leave his room, or pluck someone off the street, or make himself presentable enough for a visit to the brothel. 

He lets his mind wander. He’s not even really in the mood, because something about it seems unfulfilling and taboo and useless. He just wants to be able to sleep, and he wants things to stop _hurting_ so godsdamned much in these past few weeks. If he can’t chase away the feeling his chest that Geralt had left there, he may as well work his way to stoking the one building in his gut and his prick’s already swelling beneath his ministrations so at least he’ll accomplish something for tonight.

The solitude is… strange, though. He’s so used to being around Geralt, or writing him or writing _about_ him; yeah, sure, it’s been years and he definitely hasn’t been by Geralt’s side every second of it, but it’s just… he’s always around somewhat, you know? In some capacity. And if he wasn’t, Jask could always be confident and eager for their next adventure. Except now he isn’t sure if that’ll ever come– especially with the state of the world outside of witcher-princess business– and it’s strange.

He’d probably tell him to take off the rose-colored lenses, Geralt. But that’s where _he_ doesn’t understand; inasmuch as Geralt needs Yen, and Ciri, there’s people that need him, _too._ Lots of people, actually. For every one person that spit on the name of a witcher, ten more were thankful for the deeds said witcher had done. (At least, if that witcher was Geralt. Jaskier doesn’t know any other witchers. He doubts they’re like Geralt, though.) There were people that _wanted_ him and _needed_ him. Jaskier… kind of needs him, too, he thinks.

Because this isn’t his best life. There’s so much more out there than this.

The terrifying thing is that he doesn’t think he has the courage to go looking for it on his own. Not yet. Not now. He _wants_ to, gods, but he wants… he wants Geralt to help him along the way, for now, because the world’s still new and fresh and raw to him, and he doesn’t know _true_ courage, not in the way Geralt does. And if the war is here, _now,_ Jaskier’s going to need that courage now more than ever before.

He definitely needs Geralt. He definitely _misses_ him now, when things are so dire and Jask just wants to… he doesn’t know… he wants Geralt’s dry sarcasm to make it better. He wants everything to be better.

He really is _tired._ Because he’s lamenting the state of the world while fondling his cock and thinking of Geralt. Lie back and think of Geralt of Rivia, he thinks wildly, and laughs, and… gods, it’s the first time he feels like he’s properly _laughed_ since he got home.

… he misses him. Hells. And he knows he shouldn’t be _doing_ this, shouldn’t be _thinking_ about this while he’s having it off, but it feels good, and he feels good, and he deserves to feel good. And… what’s Geralt going to know, anyway? Geralt sent him _away._

So he lets himself miss him. And maybe he needs to mourn, too, a bit, but he doesn’t need a sad wank here and there’s plenty of good memories. The exasperation meeting him in the tavern. The eyeroll at _“you don’t want to keep a man with bread in his pants waiting.”_ The dry humor, sarcasm, wit. And how he… he wasn’t everything that Jaskier had expected, not after all the stories he had heard about witchers, when he had told Filavandrel to let Jaskier go and then given them all of their coin instead. How he’d kept saying he wouldn’t get involved and then _did,_ for the greater good– for better or worse, when it came to his own safety. And how Geralt would lay down his life for Ciri– for Yen, _maybe_ for Jask, too– oh, that sends the warmth mushrooming beneath his skin. Ah.

He tries not to think about what that means. It’s too _good_ for him to care, the whole thought that Geralt might just need him, too. Want him, too, and Jask doesn’t even care in which way.

The idea someone wants him… gods, he feels dizzy with it. The fantasy of it. The perceived reality. One of his callouses slips over the head of his cock and he jerks, and bites his lip, and bites his sleeve instead once he’s licked away the speck of blood. It’s been awhile since he’s done this, too. On the road the past few weeks, with Geralt, who sees everything and hears everything and _smells_ everything, gods, fuck, like he’s ever wanted to have _that_ conversation– the one time he’d stepped out with a girl, he’d gotten a _look_ the next morning that said Geralt knew exactly where he was and what he was doing even though he _hadn’t_ made a secret of it. Putting his hands on himself anywhere in the _vicinity_ of a witcher was a bad idea, so maybe, maybe he should be grateful right now, all things considered– 

The room burns hot, and so does he.

He comes off climax, sweaty and with a rush that leaves him spinning further out in his fantasies for a half second before it snaps back. He’s lying in bed with his hand in his pants and thinking of _Geralt._ Oh, fuck.

Now he thinks about what the means, a little, and he really _doesn’t_ want to. And it’s not– it’s not like he was thinking about Geralt having a hand in having him off– uh– oh, _fuck,_ what is he _doing,_ no! No! His mind hasn’t gone there, ever. It isn’t like that. It… isn’t.

Shit, he is too tired, and now he’s sinking back into being too upset about things. He’d rather hang onto the high a little longer. So he pushes his hair out of his face with the back of his hand and gives up looking for a handkerchief to wipe his fingers on his shirt instead. At least he’ll sleep now, he thinks, head heavy with the fog of orgasm.

Things won’t be different in the morning, but at least he can finally get some sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I warned you it wasn't a sexual fantasy ʘ‿ʘ 
> 
> in all seriousness i ship them hard as soulmates but i have a hard time visualizing overly conventional romantic jaskialt so if you're looking for pwp from me it probably ISN'T going to happen.... that being said...... I do have offerings to post very soon that I think yall will like anyway ;)


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